


The Last Page

by ayaheartright



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Apple Pie Life, Episode: s05e22 Swan Song, Episode: s08e12 As Time Goes By, Episode: s10e23 My Brother's Keeper, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Lucifer's Cage, M/M, Parent Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester in Lucifer's Cage, Scared Sam, Sorry Not Sorry, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8400691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayaheartright/pseuds/ayaheartright
Summary: When Dean took Death’s scythe to his head, Sam didn't exactly know what to expect. Heaven? Hell? Saying the former was preferable, well that'd be the understatement of the century. He didn't expect this: That a conversation with Lucifer years ago, when he still hallucinated, would come to pass. He was finally at the last page of the book. Dean thought he'd survive his Apple Pie life. It's what Sammy wanted. It's what he wanted - a life with Lisa and Ben. That image was his happy place, but hunters aren't allowed to be happy. Something always happens. AU in which everything post Swan Song really was a game Lucifer played.





	1. Good Morning Vietnam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [longingparadise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/longingparadise/gifts).



When Dean took Death’s scythe to his head, Sam didn't exactly know what to expect. Heaven. Hell. Saying the former was preferable, well that'd be the understatement of the century. 

 

He gasped for air, jerked awake like a nightmare. The cold metal floor chilled his form. He shivered, exhale visible in the clammy air. Within a moment of opening his eyes, they slammed shut again.

 

“No.” he pleaded. “No. No. No.”

 

Memories swirled around his mind, faded. A dream quickly forgotten. Years of his life zapped away in an instant from the sound of crashing thunder. The sound of nails scratching against the ground echoed in the silent space. On instinct he pushed against the palm of his hand, at the scar mostly healed. It wasn't there. Only the smooth surface of never broken skin.

 

“Never happened, Bunk Buddy.” Lucifer smiled, evident in his tone. He dragged his fingers around Sam, outlining an inch or so away. “Gotta say. The show you put on in that grapefruit got way more interesting when you figured out how to take over. Eve. Leviathan, yeah that was me. But all that drama with Dean. Then trying to save him. Golden. Brilliant.” 

 

Sam remained unmoving until Lucifer flicked his big toe, and in an instant his naked back collided with the cage bars. He clenched his jaw, gulped hard. A single tear trailed down his cheek. The sound of blood rushing to his ears, and his heart beating erratically drowned out everything else. 

 

He couldn't tell how long he stayed like that, pressed against the farthest corner of the cage. At some point he felt the air stir. Lucifer knelt down next to him. Sam became even colder due to the close proximity. He sobbed. A horrible grating, pathetic noise left him. 

 

“There, there.” Lucifer placed a hand on his shoulder. “All good things must come to an end.”

 

“Dean?” Sam asked, finally opening his eyes. Blue light swirled, quickly manifesting as a face he recognized, minus the open sores. “What happened to Dean?” 

 

“Oh. Probably still with …” Lucifer tapped his finger on his bottom lip, pretending to think. “Ahah!” He lifted it. A lightbulb literally lit up above his head briefly and disappeared. “Lisa and Ben Braeden. Living that apple pie life you wanted.” 

 

“What?” Sam croaked. “What?!” He asked again, louder. Lucifer’s previous comments started to sink in. “You're tell me. That I. Everything. I never left the cage?”

 

“Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner!”

 

“But. But everything.”

 

“Never happened, Sammy.” 

 

“How long?”

 

Lucifer rose and paced the floor, hands behind his back. The muted green button down billowed behind him and Sam became aware of his sorry state. Clothes, he thought. Pants and a plaid shirt materialized. God, it hurt. Because that only meant one thing. 

 

Vivid images of the fall, more real than the last five years topside, flooded. Out of spite, the archangel clung, keeping him trapped till the gate slammed shut. Sam’s body bunt up from the heat of hell once Lucifer left him. It wasn't meant to house humans. The cage rejected him, turning Sam to a ethereal soul. Something the semi-sentient prison understood. 

 

“Hmmm. Dunno. Not like I have the news down here. Just you. Me. And him.” Lucifer gestured to the opposite corner, where young John Winchester pouted. “He's still mad. And Dad thought I held a grudge.” 

 

“Adam?” 

 

“Who?” Lucifer asked stiffly. “Oh!” Another lightbulb, this time red. “Right! Right, right, right! See. Michael wasn't as mad as me. Let little baby bro go.” 

 

“You're just mad I won.” Sam spat.

 

“Whoa, Cowboy.” Lucifer chuckled. “Crazy how a few ‘years’ has made you all feisty. I like it. We should play this again when you get boring.”

 

“How long?” Sam asked again, gritting his teeth. He clenched the denim till his knuckles turned white. “Please.” 

 

“Really dunno, sport. Time doesn't really work like that in the cage. Outside of it, it's somewhere around a year a month. But here?” Lucifer scowled when Sam’s bangs fell to conceal his distressed face. Hiding. “A year could be a second or vise versa. These.” He tilted his head back and forth, quietly counting. “Seven hundred and twenty something thousand years… could be a blink of an eye to big bro or he could've died a long time ago. But enough talk. Now it's my turn to pick the game.”


	2. Apple Pie Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we get to see a bit of Dean's life here.

Mess couldn't even begin to describe Dean Winchester. He slurred his name often, remembering in the dead drunk state he found himself in those first days, months, hell even years. 

 

“Hell.” He scoffed, and downed the rest of the bottle. The hard amber alcohol burnt his throat and it felt incredible. “B.T.D.T” He threw the bottle against the backsplash of the kitchen wall. It shattered. Some pieces landed in the sink and others across the fake granite countertop. Undoubtedly others ended up on the floor.

 

Lisa was going to be pissed, but fuck her. 

 

She took Ben for a weekend with her folks and he refused again. Somehow she knew. Knew his cycles: what brought on a rage, or wretched lamenting. May second, Sam’s birthday, and also the day he died the first time. The entire month around the end of the apocalypse was dodgy. So much prep, sleepless nights before, and he wasn't sober a moment after he stumbled onto Lisa’s front door. Everything blurred together. 

 

The days his mom and dad died paled in comparison to that pain. Maybe because Sammy didn't really die. He jumped -- jumped right into hell and then the door slammed shut.

 

“And I promised.” Dean murmured. 

 

The cool kitchen table tingled against his flushed face. His cheeks burnt from drunkenness, the kind he only achieved when alone. He closed his eyes, ready to pass out. 

 

A door opening and closing registered somewhere in the background. Familiar eyes bore into his back. He sighed. Footsteps found their way to the junk drawer. She forgot her day planner again. 

 

Lisa turned to lean on the cabinet. “I bought more drywall. It's in the garage.” The pages fluttered as she flipped through the small blue book, referencing. “It's a school holiday weekend. So, just have it cleaned up by Monday night.” 

 

The glass shards crunched under she shoes. She placed her hand on his shoulder, sliding it underneath his shirt collar. “Okie-dokie.” He said, relaxing under her touch. She patted his head, and left. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Nice ride. How many miles on her?” 

 

Dean chuckled, and tossed the bags of groceries in the trunk. It wasn't terribly uncommon for someone to comment on Baby when he'd take her out on a run. Every so often he'd make sure everything still worked, that she didn't just sit idly under a tarp in the garage too long. After the urge to drive her off a cliff, or as far away as he could possible get dissipated, that is. 

 

“Odometer’s turned over a enough times since I rebuilt her years ago. She mostly sits now though.”

 

The woman stroked the newly waxed hood. She pushed her sunglasses on top of her highlighted hair. “Rebuilt from what?” Her crows feet became defined as she squinted, inspected the job. 

 

“Everything.” 

 

“Humor me.” She smiled. “I love hearing these types of stories.” 

 

Dean glanced at his phone, and put the device back on his jacket pocket. He walked around to the front gestured, waving his arm over the front half. “Well, a semi completely smashed up the whole front and side.” He placed his arm on the top, eyes sparkling with emotion. “And I, uh, took a crowbar to her real bad. But all the kinks came out.

 

“And that was just the most recent time.” Dean laughed again, and leaned against Baby, staring at the sunset, yet not really seeing the scenery. “I remember this one time when I was a kid. Dad and I were out huntin’, and this uh… bear… gets pissed, right. Because we ganked her mate. Goes at the Impala, trying to get my little brother, Sammy. Tore through the metal. Giant slashes all over the body. But she did her job and protected Sam. Kept that bitch out long enough for us to get there.”

 

“I was unaware that bears were vindictive.” She raised an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah well.” Dean shrugged. “I was like thirteen or something and that's how I remember it.”

 

“Well she's a gorgeous car.” She dug through her purse and pulled out a business card. “If you're ever looking for a body shop job, I’d love to give you a formal interview.”

 

Dean reached out and ran his thumb over the embossed letters. Classic car restoration shop a couple hours away. Construction wasn't bad, but this -- Bobby always said he was made for mechanics. Not just cars either. Sonny saw it too, wanted Dean to join some nerdy engineering club when he stayed at the correctional house. 

 

“I hope to hear from you…” She said, drawing him back to reality.

 

“Sorry.” Dean picked the card and shook her outstretched hand. “Dean. And you?” 

 

“Nancy.” 

 

“Well I'll be seeing ya, Nancy. Gotta get home before the Mrs. gets upset.” 

 

He said it so easily already, despite the wedding being a month off. Nancy left with a smile, unaware of his internal struggle. Dean ran a hand over his poker face, and got in the car. 

 

The radio stayed off on the way home. Once Asia came on, Dean had to change the channel. Then again with ‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.’ Some crap Ben listened to should've helped, except that station, apparently, played 90s music around this time and yet another song reminded him of Sam.

 

“Come on, man. It's like you're fudging tormenting me!” He banged at the steering wheel. “What the hell am I supposed to do, huh? Lisa’s been on my ass about this bridal party crap because she won't elope! But I ain't got nobody without you! Just some suburban schmucks. Very  _ Apple Pie  _ just how you wanted!”

 

He leaned his head against the wheel at a red light. “Great. I'm talking to myself. Not like Sam’s gonna answer. Worse than praying to Cas.”

 

“Hello, Dean.” 

 

“Holy!” Dean jumped, making the alarm sound. “After all those times I called you, you pop into the car from a passing reference?!” 

 

“I've been busy.” Dean narrows his eyes slightly and waited. “There's a civil war in heaven.” 

 

“Do you, uh, need help?” 

 

Cas looked at Dean, really looked at him. The kind of stare that made him squirm in his seat. He bit his tongue and searched the angel’s face in return: blank features with intense eyes. 

 

“No.” Cas averted his gaze. “I should go. The light is green.” 

 

“Wait.. what?” 

 

Dean tensed his jaw at the rejection, and stomped on the gas. He drove home like he just dug up some vital info for a case, or he was in the midst of a chase. Not that he was mildly late bringing home garlic bread for dinner. 

 

Once back, he parked Baby in her designated spot, grabbed the groceries, and replaced the tarp. 

 

He ripped open a hole in the garlic bread, and placed it on a cookie sheet inside the oven. Lisa preheated it. Speaking of, she sat at the table with Ben, already digging into spaghetti with strawberries and pickles.

 

“That's a new one.” He commented. 

 

She grunted something, mouth full of the concoction. 

 

“Got a job offer.” Dean continued, grabbing the whiskey bottle and a glass. He took a gulp, and contemplated pouring another, bigger shot. “I mean. Construction is great. But this one’s respectable year round.” He looked at Ben, regretting the subtle reference to hustling the first winter he insisted on paying his portion of bills. “Mechanic about two hours north of here.”

 

“So we're moving?” Ben asked, already moping at the idea. 

 

“Hey now. Just slow down. I'm used to driving and long hours. We’ll discuss it when… if the time comes.” 

 

“That's great,” Lisa glowed. “I'm glad. Listen. My sister called earlier. There was a cancelation on the second ballroom at the reception hall. So. We don't have to have the ceremony in the church. I know how you feel ---”

 

“Nah. It's fine.” Dean took another drink, and refilled directly after. “Besides. We already printed out the invites and need to get those mailed before it's too late.” 

 

The oven dinged, and Dean turned to grab himself some food with his alcohol dinner.


	3. Apple Pie Part Two (Season Seven Time For a Wedding)

He asked Ben.

It seemed like the right thing to do, because he couldn't have Sid as his Best Man. The neighbor he knew for only a few years, and more importantly, had no clue who Dean was besides the fake smile. Bobby crossed his mind. He had the perfect opportunity when the cranky bastard called the number on the R.S.V.P. form to give him an earful about being distant. He even offered. Sorta. He offered up his shotgun and through the phone Dean couldn't tell if Bobby was serious or joking.

The old man arrived the day before. Lisa wanted him at the house, rather than making Bobby stay at a motel. Dean figured he didn't mind, but Lisa, apparently, insisted. “As the only person from the Winchester side it was the least she could do.” She must've called Bobby back at some point.

Dean figured it was Lisa’s sister, the maid-of-honor with some more last minute details. The entire engagement ordeal lasted three months -- a whirlwind of trying to get everything just right in not enough time and something they could afford without saving ahead of time.

When the familiar thud of ammunition in an army duffle landed on his kitchen floor, he looked up from the table arrangements. “Hey!” He exclaimed, both in greeting and because Bobby swiped the whiskey bottle off the table.

“Ain't getting drunk the night before your wedding, boy.” Bobby scolded, and looked around. He stomped to the fridge and placed the bottle on top. Dean scowled, opening his mouth to protest. “Oh I'm sure you make up for it the other three hundred and sixty four days a year. Don't give me none of your lip.”

Ben laughed, coming up on the entry.

“Bobby. Ben. Ben. Bobby.” Dean introduced.

Ben crossed the threshold to shake Bobby’s hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.” He said, and relaxed at Bobby's scoff.

They fell into an easy night.

Bobby helped himself to the kitchen like he lived there, and instructed Ben to grab a deck of cards. After Dean lost yet another game of ‘rock paper scissors,’ the group played Texas Hold Em for popcorn. It took a while for Ben to get the hang of it: he knew the game, but Dean refrained from giving him all the dirty tricks till now.

Suburbia melted away from the boys. Dean could practically smell bar peanuts, sweat, and beer; hear bikers shoot pool on the back, swearing up a storm; Ben was about the same age of Sam when Dean started letting him hustle. Those puppy dog eyes made the brothers self-sufficient, so long as they lived in a motel in a seedy enough area, and two kids could enter a bar.

Dean smiled, proud when Ben managed to win a round. Genuinely. He knew when Bobby went easy to teach, and when he put his all into something.

He sent Ben to bed around two in the morning, ready to attempt shut eye himself. “Wait up.” Dean looked back at Bobby.

“Oh. Right. Guest bedroom is at the end of the hall upstairs.”

“That's not what I want to talk about.”

The wedding march brought Dean back to the present: to the wood panels of the church walls; forrest green carpet under his feet; the lack of scratchy fabric of the quality tuxedo he wore. He rubbed his ring finger, bare for the last time in his life.

Lisa entered the sanctuary, hooked her arm around his soon-to-be father-in-law’s and stepped slowly. Dean’s legs quivered and his breath shook. He faltered a few times before his faced formed into a full ‘shit eating grin.’

She was beautiful. Sure, her hair had been pulled back in some expensive updo, and the empire waist dress took up twenty percent of the budget. But her eyes were what caused the description. They sparkled.

He showed up on their doorstep in pieces. He had nightmares almost nightly. For the first months he was either drunk or hungover -- still a wreck half the time. Yet, she said yes to him. Not because of some obligation, but because she wanted to.

He could tell in her eyes, her nervous smile. The wedding had nothing to do with bad timing, that's just what it took for him to have the guts to ask her to marry him.

“Hey.” He whispered once she kissed her dad on the cheek and moved to her rehearsed spot. “Hey.” He gulped. This time his voice a little louder.

“Hey.” Lisa repeated, and somehow her smile widened.

“Ahem.” The officiant cleared his throat, and Dean felt a sudden surge of sympathetic nervousness on top of his own. “First off. I’d like to say I’m real happy that the Pastor of Lisa’s church came down with sudden food poisoning. I was honored to be invited, and even more when the bride decided that I could make an… Acceptable replacement. For, well, everyone sans the groom who don’t know me. I’m Bobby Singer, Dean’s surrogate Father, and a Shinto Priest so all this -” He held his arms out. “Totally legal.”

The guests gave an awkward laugh. Bobby must not have been privy to the fact that Lisa’s family happened to be strict Lutherans. Dean and Lisa’s reactions, however, were genuine, and that’s all that mattered.

“Okay. So.” Bobby continued. He glanced at the ceremony script and exhaled. “You don't have to have a ceremony to have a marriage. And when you think about it, the whole thing is kind of weird, right? You're standing on a stage, looking fancy, holding flowers, and being stared at by pretty much everyone who’s alive and meant anything to you in the past twenty-something years. So why do we do it?

“The marriage ceremony has been an important feature across nearly every culture, religion, generation, and society. We have thousands of important moments that happen throughout our lives. But this one is regarded as one so critical. We acknowledge its special status by sharing it with others. Why this moment, you ask?”

“Bobby, no one asked. Stick to the script.” Dean scolded, covering his microphone with his palm. He wearily acknowledged his in-laws.

“Because despite all of our differences, love is what we all share. That no matter who we are, where we've come from, what we believe, we know this one thing: love is what we're doing right.

“That's why you both are standing here. That's why you all are here to watch them stand up here. We have all loved in our lifetimes, and in this moment, we're reminded that the ability to love is the very best part of our humanity.

“All of us here today have our own love stories. Ones that no matter what, wouldn’t be traded for anything.

Bobby placed his hand on Dean’s arm. “I'm here — we're all here — to hope with you, to support you, to be proud of you. You know love isn't happily ever after. It's not one moment — not even this moment. It's every moment.

“Big ones like saying "I love you," moving in together, getting engaged — but mostly a million little ones that come in between the big moments. Falling asleep next to one another, making dinner together, binge-watching Netflix shows, getting a big hug when you get home from work… These everyday moments fuse together into one big experience.

“And even though this experience is so incredible, words fail us when we try and explain it. That's just the way it is with love — it's meant to be felt, not described.

“But trying to describe love is one of our favorite pastimes. We use the words we have to write stories, and poems, and songs about love. And even though we describe love in different ways — and even though love can look different from one person to the next — we all know it when we see it. And we see it here.

“Now.” Bobby flipped to the next page of his unread script. “Thomas Braedon is going to read for us from the Bible. First Corinthians thirteen. Shocker.”

Bobby behaved himself through the rest of the ceremony, either because of Dean’s death glare, or because he said his piece. He probably knew that Dean’s look was just for show. The opening washed away some of the groom’s dissociative experience. Connected him to the current event with words that actually meant something.

That's not to say that the classic wedding vows of “"I, Dean Winchester, take you, Lisa Braeden to be my wife, and these things I promise you: I will be faithful to you and honest with you; I will respect, trust, help, and care for you; I will share my life with you; I will forgive you as we have been forgiven; and I will try with you better to understand ourselves, the world and God; through the best and worst of what is to come, and as long as we live." Meant nothing. The candid, improv that Bobby delivered, however, was for them right now. Spoken directly from his heart.

The couple kissed. Dean hovered his hand over Lisa’s stiff, sprayed hair as to not mess it up. Then laced his fingers with her’s, and walked back down the aisle to a happy cheers and flashing cameras.

* * *

 

At the reception hall, he finally had a much needed drink. After the speeches made by Lisa’s family, especially the one about sisters always being best friends, he wished he'd splurged on a fullbar.

“Here.” Bobby said, and passed him a flask.

Dean gulped down the home-made spirit like the first time he had water after hell. “I miss him, Bobby.” He confided, and watched the guests serve themselves the buffet style dinner of chicken, rice, and green beans. “This should've been Sam’s life. Not mine. I shou--”

“You stop right there. I meant what I said. This ain't no happily ever after. You gotta live with that guilt and so do I. But you deserve to be happy, Dean. Not this fake jelly of the month stepford crap either. You deserve to be _you_ and happy.” Bobby loosened the tie of his F.B.I. Suit. “Go to a damn shooting range instead of thinkin’ that hittin’ a damn golf ball as hard as you can can kill off some of those emotions.”

“I thought we had our chick flick moment last night.”

“Yeah well you need to heard it again. Idjit.”

“Um. Excuse me.” Lisa tapped on the microphone tucked up on the sweetheart neckline of her dress. She stood at the newlywed’s table, situated by itself off the dance floor where all could see. “We got the projector working, so here’s the slideshow that was supposed to go with my speech.”

Bobby grabbed the flash from Dean, who wanted another drink. Thankfully, he'd seen it all before, but that didn't make the stark difference any less bizarre.

Pictures of their childhoods passed over the screen. Among them Lisa’s baby picture, first day of kindergarten, high school, her prom picture, right after she had Ben, and a dozen others took up most of the space. They looked perfect, not just because of her sheltered life before Ben’s eighth birthday, but the quality of the photos that got scanned into the computer. They lacked aging or wrinkles.

The meager amount of photos telling Dean’s story, consisted of the small stack he carried with him everywhere. The creases and muted colors even more pronounced on the big screen.

At the end, the most recent ultrasound.

“No, this isn't Ben’s ultrasound that got put out of place. I'm sure a lot of you noticed, despite the flattering layers of my dress. I'm due May twelfth with Samantha Ann Winchester.”

Dean froze. They discussed names briefly after the gender reveal. Never Sam. He licked his lips and closed his eyes. They stung. His heart felt heavy, weighed down with a plethora of emotions he couldn't even begin to describe.

“Dean?” Lisa asked and he opened his eyes. Her shoulders pushed together and her smile tightened. “Maybe I shouldn't have surprised you.”

“No.” he rasped. “No. It's fine. I just.” A single tear slid down his cheek and he swallowed hard. “Damnit. You just wanted Ben to win the bet that I wouldn't cry.”

The crowd laughed, drowning out Dean’s sob.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I'd get a chapter out today but I did and it hurts! One more part to this arch and then back to Sam.


	4. Apple Pie Life Part Three

He sat, sprawled out on floor of Samantha’s floor. His head leaned back against the seat of the glider rocking chair. Dean would've sat on it but then he knew he'd fall asleep, despite it only being seven P.M.

Neither Lisa nor him slept much since May second. He was an insomniac anyway but after seven months, it started to wear him down. Even hunting, he always managed to get a solid eight hours in once a week or two.

Samantha screeched and babbled next to him. She rocked on her knees, so close to crawling. After a minute of frustrated wails she dropped down to her belly and scooted to the teething toy. She drooled down her fleece sleeper, the tops of two teeth barely visible in her ecstatic grin.

“Yeah you laugh it up while the rest of us die from exhaustion.” He grumbled with a smile. “Your uncle loved sleep. Never got it. But loved it.” Dean lifted his head, and pointed towards his daughter, hand fake scolding. “So like start sleeping more than an hour at a time, okay?”

Samantha squealed and scooted over to her next target: ribbons coming off her sensory rug. She rolled the silky fabric between her fat fingers, unable to get a decent grip.

Dean closed his eyes again, and listened in a dazed state, until the baby noises stopped. Samantha’s eyes darted. He tensed his jaw, and waited, a sensation all too recognizable spread inside him. He twitched. His skin tingled.

Distantly, he heard a startled gasp.

The decor blurred as he rushed out the room and down the hall. He didn’t stop at the bedroom for holy water or his gun. It crossed his mind, but dread overpowered years of safety training. He didn't have time to get into Baby either.

In the living room Lisa stood immobilized. Another woman held her arm. Blue eyes glowed. Tattoos worked their way down her arms. On instinct Dean dashed towards them and tackled the dijinn.

He rolled off her and rushed to the corner of the room. Pushing aside the neatly stacked moving boxes, Dean pulled out a golf club. He sidestepped as the dijinn lunged for him and swung. The rounded side collided with her head again and again.

Blood splatter on the wall. He bludgeoned. Not the most efficient way to gank a monster, but it had to do.

A shadow moved in the corner of his eye. Dean sidestepped, narrowly missing the charged touch of another dijinn. “Damnit!” He yelled, and used the club to block the man’s reach.

“Oh hell no.” He complained, seeing another one waltz in unlocked door.

He backed up, putting himself between the monsters and the hallway. Dean felt, rather than saw Ben approach behind him. “Get to the impala and get the hell out of here!” He swung aimlessly at the dijinn, and gritted his teeth. “Ben! Take your sister outside as fast as you can! Don't look back!” Footsteps sounded on the wood floor. “Well, what are you waiting for?!” Dean bellowed. He spread his arms, mocking. “I'm going to kill you sons of bitches and then wake my wife. So let’s do this.”

They stood in a stalemate what felt like forever. “I don't think so.” The dijinn smiled when Dean let his eyes travel to Lisa’s limp form. “Go ahead, we’ll wait.” The brown haired one continued.

“Like I believe that.”

“Scouts honor.” The bald one said, and made the gesture.

Dean took a deep breath through his nostrils and grit his teeth. He kept his eyes on the dijinn when he knelt down. “Lisa! Lisa! Come on! Don't be sucked into their dream world! You got it all here, baby! Lisa!” He avoided looking at her completely white, rolled back eyes. The discoloration of her skin, too rapid of a change, if he remembered correctly. “No. No. No. this isn't right!” He checked her pulse. Nothing. “Cas.” He whispered, and then yelled. “Cas! Cas! Cas!”

The dijinn turned to each other and shrugged. They'd had enough. Their point was made. They sprung as a pair, and Dean danced on pure autopilot. He ducked, swung, and kicked all the while muttering a desperate prayer.

A shotgun blasted, a round in each. The dijinn stumbled, enough time for Dean to turn and run. He grabbed Ben roughly by the arm. The sawed off shotgun fell from the boy’s hands. He tripped. Dean dragged Ben as he regained his footing.

They rushed through the kitchen to the garage. Samantha wailed in the back seat of Lisa’s sedan. Dean cursed and pushed Ben towards the car. “Get Sammy out of there and in the impala!” He grabbed another gun and slammed the trunk shut.

Confusion washed over Ben’s features.

“Now! That's an order!” Dean clutched the pearl handle, firing at the dijinn that followed too quickly. “Hurry it up!” He glanced over, seeing Ben unlatch the car seat.

Ben crawled in the backseat with Sammy right when Dean ran out of bullets. Dean turned over the impala with practiced haste. Baby slammed into the garage door, and peeled out of the driveway.

Dean ran his hand over his flushed face, and  
increasingly wet cheeks. He began chanting again.

* * *

 

It took an hour for Samantha to fall asleep, either tired from constant crying, or lulled by Ben’s shushing.

Dean stopped after two to pump gas at a convenient store. The bells hung on the door chimed as he trudged in. He checked his wallet, a whole forty dollars inside and legitimate, or as close to it, cards. He closed his eyes, and fought the urge to punch the ATM - once he started, he wouldn't stop.

He leaned against the machine and sighed.

The civilian thing to do would be to call the police, and tell Ben what kind of cover story to give. Make up some stupid excuse as to why they waited so long. Fear - that always worked. He was paranoid about the break in and wanted to get the kids as far away as possible.

He'd be charged with manslaughter for killing the female djinn. Not to mention, they'd fingerprint him. Find out he’s the real Dean Winchester, and not some random guy with the same name as a dead criminal.

He pushed off the ATM and pulled out the cards, emptying the balance of every single one. His wallet bulged. Dean took 100 bucks and crunched it in his hand, making it look less new while he filled the basket.

Pie came first. Then jerky, water, and whiskey. He grabbed all the diapers, wipes, and formula off the shelves, which wasn't much. There weren't any bottles, so he walked back and selected a random sports top drink from the cooler. Same thing as a sippy, right? He took two different types, just in case one didn't work.

The cashier gave him a weird look when he approached -- arched her pierced brow and squinted her smoky shadowed eyes.

“Pump five too.” He placed the bill on the counter, not bothering to look at the total.

Dean put the bags in the backseat by Ben, who stirred. Samantha fussed in her sleep, thrashing in Ben’s arms.

Dean pulled the formula, water, and gatorade from the plastic bags. He chugged some of the blue drink, and poured out the rest. Added a little water, shook, and dumped that too. He prepared the formula based off the package directions, hoping Samantha was hungry enough to take the foreign liquid.

“Here.” He passed it to Ben, and sealed up the gas tank.

Dean traded the baby items for the whiskey. Once back on the open road, he twisted off the top.

Ben hadn't said a word since they left, and he merely grunted when Dean shook him awake several hours later. Samantha’s half finished bottle fell to the floor. Dean picked it up as he grabbed the bag of Samantha’s stuff.

They shuffled past the junkyard cars. Baby gleamed in the moonlight, sticking out like a sore thumb. He banged on the door continuously until it opened.

“What?” Bobby asked. “What the --” he stuttered, sizing Dean up, recognition washing over his features.

Without a word, Dean handed Bobby the bags of supplies. Ben scurried into the house after a silent nod. The newly single-parent stared blankly, his red rimmed eyes unfocused.

He turned to leave.

The sound of a shotgun, the one Bobby kept by the door, sounded dubiously loud. "You step off that porch, boy, don't you come back. I won't do this again.

"I won't see you turn into your Daddy. Either come in and talk about this, or I'll shoot you when you come crawling back for your kids."

“Lisa’s dead, Bobby.” Dean choked. “It's my fault.”

“I'm sorry, son.” Bobby unintentionally lowered the gun. “But that don't give you an excuse to leave.”

“Just for a bit. Just till I gank them. It won't --”

“Won't what?! Do you _know_ many times I had this conversation with your father? Always tomorrow, next week, next year - I kept my mouth shut for too long with him. I love you, son. Don't. Do. This.”

“Bobby I…” Dean trailed off, and hovered his foot over the last step.


	5. Nursery Rhymes

“Row, row, row your boat.  
“Gently down the stream.  
“Merrily, Merrily, Merrily,  
“Your life was but a dream.”

Lucifer sang as he twisted his hand inside Sam. He moved his fist down the long slash that sliced Sam’s stomach from navel to just below his nipples. Blood gushed from the wound onto the floor.

“P-Please.” Sam pleaded, not making eye contact.

“Please what?” Lucifer cooed in his ear.

“Just!” Sam hissed, wheezed, and sobbed. “Why! Just tell me why!” Sam didn't look at his tormentor. Instead he focused on the form curled up in the corner. “Do you really hate me that much?! Dad!”

Michael lifted his head. His grey-greens eyes looking at something other than his hands for the first time in a millennia. “Is that who you see?” He asked, voice abnormally clear, considering he never talked. “Your father?” He pushed further back against the bars till they bit into him.

“Oh! This is interesting!” Lucifer practically squealed with delight. He materialized a dagger, and dragged it along Sam’s arms. “Keep talking.” He commanded.

Sam groaned, and pulled against his leather shackles. “Why do you just sit there! Help me!” He screamed when Lucifer began stabbing.

Michael twitched. His knuckles turned white.

“Hmm. You know what…” Lucifer considered. His forehead wrinkled and he tapped his finger on his lip. At a snap of his fingers, Sam’s injuries healed, and he was released. “Let’s trade.”

“Ex -- excuse me?” Sam gasped.

He rubbed his arms, ran his fingers over his repaired flesh. Lastly, he manifested clothes. After a long moment, he looked up at Lucifer, seeing that smug smile.

“I mean it, Sammy.” Lucifer said, and tucked Sam’s bangs behind his ear. The human soul flinched. He closed his eyes, breathing shaky. “What do you say?”

“N - N - Ye -” Sam stuttered.

His eyes looked everywhere except Lucifer. The wheels of his brain moved a mile a minute. He tried to figure out the correct answer. Suddenly, an angel blade appeared in his hands. He looked up to see Lucifer wincing. Meat hooks penetrated his flesh.

“Go on. I promise. All you.” Lucifer looked back at Michael. “Unless you disagree.”

Michael scowled, and scrutinized Sam. “Don't.” He said, and slowly, cautiously rose to his feet. “Don't do it, Samuel.”

“Why?!” Sam’s voice cracked. “Because you can see me torn apart, bit by bit, but God forbid that I do anything to your little brother?!” For a moment Michael looked more like Dean than his father.

“No.” Michael said, he inched forward, testing something. His eyes and expression gravely serious. “God has not forbid that. It's --” he hesitated.

“What? Michael? Wanna share with the class?”

“No, Lucifer.”

Sam’s nostrils flared. Red hot rage welled within him and he thrust forward, the blade diving deep into Lucifer’s torso. The archangel wailed. A sound Sam relished after hearing that noise so much from his own voice, brought on my Lucifer’s hand.

“Samuel. Stop.” Michael pleaded. The air current changed slightly. His eyes widened and he held his hand up, feeling some invisible force against the walls. “Please.”

“How many times did I beg that of you!”

“Enough.” Michael answered

“No! More than enough!”

“Well.” Lucifer shrugged to the best of his abilities, considering his hands were bound above his head. “If you need to take your anger out on someone, I'm here for you, Sam.”

“Screw you!” Sam yelled and stabbed again, this time turning the knife too.

Lucifer wailed, covering the sound of the cage groaning.

Michael curled up smaller, if such a thing was possible.

**Author's Note:**

> So originally I meant for this to be a one-shot. But now I'm thinking multi-chapter? lmk what you think. Yes, I'm fishing for kudos and comments (preferably comments) Love yoU!


End file.
